Can't find it right now, but one of my friends posted an old video, an interview with Martin Luther King, Jr, one of America's greatest leaders of all time. That post reminded me of MLKs "Letter from Birmingham Jail."
https://www.africa.upenn.edu/Articles_Gen/Letter_Birmingham.html
Jack and Jill
Went up the Hill
To beg for something safer
Jack fell down
Blood all around
And Jill died crawling after
Up Jack got
He, badly shot,
Remembered in the paper
Empty stares
Thoughts and prayers
We mourn the dead tenth grader
They call B.S.
Children address
This homegrown bloody terror
Endured in school
Just so you'll
From tyrants slightly safer
Stop the guns
The deadly ones
That leave our children slaughtered
The tyranny
You fear is thee
Killing our sons and daughters
Stop killing our sons and daughters.
Stop. Killing. Our. Sons and Daughters.
(Placed in public domain. No rights reserved.)
I am Sam.
Uncle Sam.
That Sam I Am.
That Uncle Sam.
I do not like that White House man.
Do you like green, brown, or tan?
I do not like them, Uncle Sam.
I do not like green, brown, or tan.
Would you like them here or there?
I would not like them here or there.
I would not like them anywhere.
I do not like green, brown or tan.
I just don't like them, Uncle Sam.
Would you like them were they housed?
Would you like them thrice deloused?
I do not like them in a house.
I do not like them thrice deloused.
I do not like them here or there.
I do not like them anywhere.
I do not like green, brown, or tan.
I do not like them, Uncle Sam.
Would you loan them a small box?
Would you feed them bagels? Lox?
Not in a box.
Not even lox.
Not in a house.
Not thrice deloused.
I would not feed them here or there.
I would not feed them anywhere.
I would not help green, brown, or tan.
I would not help
Any man.
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Dear Friend,
This poem comes as close to religion for me as anything I know. It is written to a boy but applies equally to a woman. Perhaps you may find it some help, as I have, when facing life's sometimes difficult choices.
If—
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day: The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play, And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same, A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game. A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast; They thought, “If only Casey could but get a whack at that— We’d put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.” But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake; So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat, For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat. But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all, And Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball; And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred, There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third. Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell; It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell; It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat, For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat. There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped into his place; There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile lit Casey’s face. And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt ‘twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt; Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt; Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance flashed in Casey’s eye, a sneer curled Casey’s lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped— “That ain’t my style," said Casey. “Strike one!” the umpire said. From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore; “Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted someone on the stand; And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Casey raised his hand. With a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on; He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew; But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, “Strike two!” “Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered “Fraud!” But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn’t let that ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate, He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate; And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow. Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.
This poem is in the public domain.
Dad was a great admirer of Mencken and I was recently inspired to look up this interview with the man, made on June 30, 1948 a few months before Mencken died:
By now everyone has heard of the recent detection of gravitational waves produced by two black holes colliding a billion miles away. By the time those waves reached us here on Earth they moved us (you, me, everything, the entire planet) a tiny fraction of the diameter of a proton. A. Proton. Not a fraction of an atom. A tiny, tiny fraction of a proton.
A fascinating tale of a state Senator's experience in prison after conviction for obstruction of justice related to violation of federal campaign laws. He's smart, educated and white, thrown into federal prison, full of men exactly unlike him. It's a kind of expose of prison life in the US and well worth the read.
http://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2015/09/mag-prison-smith-213098
For those who insist the Earth is just way too large for human activity to make much difference, here's a curious fact.
